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unabashednightmarepizza · 1 year

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𝐿𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑦

“Wait, so... HARRY IS FREAKING RELATED TO THE STRONGEST PEOPLE WIZARDING WORLD HAD EVER SEEN?! DUDE, HOW MUCH MORE COULD YOU BE OVERPOWERED?!”

“NOT TO MENTION YOUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHER IS ABSOLUTELY HOT AND COOL!”

“Oh Merlin's beard, they are a bunch of losers...”

You laughed at your daughter's exasperated sigh and ran around to gather some clothes and prepare beds for your guests while they were fawning over many artifacts of the Gaunt family and the memorials of your friends. It was a nice change of things, with never having any people around to teach them and all, seeing the many astonished faces of those next generation of witches and wizards were mesmerizing. They were eager to learn, know more about you- especially the girl, Hermione and the red-heads Ron, Fred and George who very irritatingly reminded you of someone certain- after making sure and calming them down that none of that would ever hurt them as long as you didn’t want them to do so.

Meanwhile though, Anne wasn’t having a good time with all the... noise in the house. She was playing with the end of her sleeves, a trait she had gotten from her father whenever he was stressed. Anne was much like Ominis, and it wasn’t just in appearance. She never took pride in her family origins, the Gaunts, after she learnt what they had done to both you and her fathers.

All the torture her father Ominis had gone through, all the sleepless nights and all the screams of muggles while he had to cast spells on them... even if he cried not to do so, forced by his parents... The screams he must have let out after Crucio whenever he was hurt by them, whenever he had to hurt someone...

All the images of you, bloodied and hurt by their actions, forced to slain them all, forced to watch as everyone you ever loved die just because her bastard uncle couldn’t keep it in his pants that resulted with the abomination of the Wizard world being born, and a curse forcing upon her family because of the blood connection you two had to them,something nothing would ever erase...

She was disgusted by them. By their sick ideologies, by their mere names and by having the same blood as them...

But, then again... She also had her father’s blood, the ever kind and loving man who despised anything related to dark magic. The one that would wake up in the middle of the night to tend to her or her siblings when you would be too tired. The one that danced with little her in front of the fireplace of their cozy house, the one that told her and her siblings of stories about his time in Hogwarts, more specifically after he met you, the love of his life and he was changed for the better, eventually leading him to leave his family behind for good.

She didn’t forget the day when he called her to him, and requested to be always there for their mother and write everything that happened down in her many diaries, a hobby she had picked early in her life.

Now that she looked back into the memory with softening eyes, it was almost like her dad knew he didn’t have long to live and that thought made tears swell in her cloudy eyes.

“My sweet Anne, I know that you believe the world is amazing and that you could achieve anything... I wish I would be able to see it but, take care of your mother for everyone okay? Don’t let her get lost in the dark for so long.”

And she remembers her nodding, her little, child mind not understandimg the severity of the situation and how danger was coming closer to her family day by day.

But she remembered how he lovingly caressed her hair, and hugged her for too long... Too long compared to other times he did, like it was... his last time doing it. And if he focused enough, she could still feel the tears her father shed right onto her neck.

My brave girl, I’m so proud of you... I’m sorry I wasn’t the dad you deserved...

This was the last thing Anne ever heard from any of his fathers, both saying the same, unaware of the shared sadness, unaware of what was cursed on them.

“I believe we aren’t really welcomed, huh? Sorry for my siblings by the way, if they irritate you, just tell me.”

Anne whipped her head to where the raspy yet masculine voice came from, her wand out to sense whoever was there but upon seeing the usual Weasley aura, she gave a smile. “No worries, I have dealt with much worse...” she stopped at the end, not sure how to call him when the male sat down with a kind smile.

“Charlie, Charlie Weasley. At your service, mi lady.” Charlie made a reverance, a dramatic one, not thinking much about it or how she couldn’t exactly see him. But the soft giggle she let out and the small, soft yet firm hands of the petite woman, Charlie looked up and gave a smile.

“You seem like someone who enjoys smiling... Energetic, like a puppy.”

“I thought you can’t see though?”

“I can’t... But it doesn’t stop me from making jokes, and seeing your soul.” Anne said with a serious face, wearing her most strict voice to make it more scary. They both stared at each other and soon burst out laughing while holding their stomachs. It has been a long time for either of them, laughing that hard and genuinely. It made her guilty for a second, after all the deaths that was on her hands, it wasn’t fair to those who died.

She was alive, smiling and laughing while... They were 6 feet underground..

That was what she made her believe, after all. She was sure they were somewhere around, hanging around her like ghosts and mocking her-

“Then, I take the ‘puppy’ comment as a compliment, Anne. Is that okay for me to call you?” she nodded slowly as Charlie’s words slowly pulled her out of the darkness that always took over, feeling shocked yet grateful for the boy begore her and she followed as he sat down on one of the chairs, suddenly feeling more than one eye on her as she also did the same, unconscciously.

“Your family are all watching, are they not?” she asked with a smile, and Charlie raised a brow at the curious eyes his sister and brothers were giving to him behind her back but tried to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.

“Yes, they do... Though they are shit at hiding it. Sorry for the language.” He sighed as he rubbed his neck shyly, making the older girl giggle and summon a glass of water. “Don’t be. I had 4 brothers as well and I know how it gets... Besides, just because I look like a noble, doesn’t make me so elegant. My mouth is much worse than a sailor when I get angry.”

“Hard to imagine really, you look so...” Charlie trailed off as he took a look at the woman that sat before him. She wore a thight, black dress with one of the collars those pure-blood women wore. She was wearing an emerald necklace, perhaps once belongt to her father and old enough to be a heirloom or a reminder, maybe a gift. But what made him stop wasn’t any of her clothing or blood status, or her family background.

It was the way she held herself. The way she was so calm, yet protective. The way she was smiling at him as if she saw him, and how her opal eyes were so beautiful... Pretty and mesmerizing enough that he could get lost in their cloudy gaze-

“What? Weird? I guess, I do, since I’m blind and-“

But obviously, Anne didn’t know any of it. She was used to being told this, poor fragile thing people would say. Guess, the sins of your parents were on you with this blindness...

As if they knew her family.

She used to react harshly when she was a kid, the usual Slytherin temper often coming out at the prospect of her loved ones in danger. It was a trait her mother often teased her fathers with, all the while trying to scoop her up in her arms so that she wouldn’t burst magic at the people. She never liked those who mistreated her parents for something they had no control over, such as blindness or the scars that decorated all three of your faces, judging her because of her inability and treat her like a glass.

She was strong in her own way, her parents were the Ancient Magic Wielder, Master of Dark Arts and the Strongest Wizard, the Heir of Slytherin, after all and she mustered magic at such a young age, proving herself to others all the time.

But it was never enough, she craved more... Something human.

Her life has always been a fight, and the only human emotion she knew was danger, fighting and pain.

So, just imagine when Charlie looked at her softly- the softest look a man had ever looked at her with, especially after her father- and how shocked she was. Yet, her heart was filled with a warmth, a warmth of the spring sun shining for the first time and Anne couldn’t help but wonder why her mother even reacted that way to the Weasleys.

They were people that lifted her mood, even after such a short time of getting to know them... The man sitting before her, more than anyone, she believed.

“Beautiful... You are beautiful.” Anne widened her eyes and looked down hurriedly, feeling a blush erupt all over her face. Both young adults suddenly felt shy as Charlie’s siblings let out a loud cheer. Fred and George yelling a Good job, brother! while Ginny teasingly cooed at how sweet it was of him to say that, giggling at both of their red face as she disappeared behind one of the polished white door.

“I-I... Uhm, thank you Charlie... That was... sweet of you...” and awkward silence settled in, Charlie looked out to see that you were sweeping the backyard when your eyes caught Harry’s, who was looking at the pottery you had there as a memorial of your husband with eyes that held nostalgia and a deep emptiness. The boy experienced so much pain over the four years he spent in Hogwarts and none of them were pleasant memories. Between that prophecy and Voldemort, Harry never got to be a kid.

And now, as if his problems didn’t run too deep, he learnt truths about his life and family... And suddenly had what he always wanted right in front of him.

But...

Even when he was supposed to be happy, he felt... Angry? Heartbroken? Sad? Empty? He didn’t know what he was feeling.. On one side, he was happy to have a family but the other part... That part wanted answers, that part wanted you to explain everything to him. Why let Voldemort kill his parents if you loved them so much? Why did you not try to take care of him? Why, why, why...

“You know, not only do you look like your father but you act like him too... Heard you often got in trouble, like father like son..” your voice reached to him, making him flinch suddenly and turn to look at you with wide eyes as you tended to the flowers and gathered all that was left in the garden. He watched you, still frozen in his spot as if you weren’t affected by them at all, by the revelations you did, by how everyone was shocked inside as Anne explained the most part...

As if the gravestones right next to the pottery was all of his imagination.

But, he couldn’t help taking slow steps towards you, as if he was enchanted and stood before you just a few steps to where you seated down. You knew he would come to you, you knew he had a lot to talk... A lot to get angry and ask answers for.

And you would give them all, slowly through time.

“I still remember James, and how he used to cause chaos around here. Running in the pottery as his aunt Anne was doing it, begging to do the same yelling out that he was capable too... No need to say, I would often find him covered with mud and water.” Harry smiled softly as tears filled his eyes, not that you would see while you checked some of the flowers in the garden and briefly looked at the pottery that used to break your heart as the slight, barely-there image of Ominis would occasionally appear to you, clad in his apron as he would lifg his face whenever he heard your steps and hug you, getting mud all over your face and kissing you, your heart and soul clench painfully in your chest that often resulted with a doubling pain.

But your grandson was more important, and you had to do this for him... For everyone.

“He was very capable of mischief, but he was so adorable and loving. So energetic and full of hope, admiring me and Anne as we did magic... I thought he was an Ancient Magic wielder too, but was wrong. Thankfully so, if I must admit...” You murmured the last part quietly so that Harry eouldn’t hear your relief .

No one could blame you, right? Especially after how James was killed.

“... Rumor has it, you also took after him.” You came to stand next to him, not daring to touch him in case he wouldn’t want it. He looked up to you with his eyes that screamed Lily, his shiny pearls cascading down slowly which made your heart strings pull and touch his pale cheeks to wipe them.

This must have already been too much for him, but though you wouldn’t explain whole details, you would tell him as much as he wished to learn for now.

But even when he cried softly, much like how James used to when he was a kid, you could see the teasing and curiosity behind his eyelids, which eventually made you smirk under your breath as well.

“The usual Gryffindor-who-wouldn’t-follow-rules... I thought it would be different over time, with each passing generation. But I guess every single one of the children that came from us had the same fierce, passionate and adventurous side of me and Ominis.” He widened his eyes at the meanimg behind your words and gaped at you, while you looked at him amused. How did you even know it?

“You know I’m in Gryffindor? How...?”

“I was always a part of your life Harry... Not that you realized.” He stayed looking up at you, heart suddenly getting warmer at knowing someone always had an eye on him. But he was still young, and he had James’s hot temper that would leave to regret and pouts. His next words left his lips without his control, and he immediately regretted how harsh it sounded after witnessing your smile slowly falling.

“Then... Why didn’t you take me? Surely, you know the Dursleys...” he couldn’t help but spit their names angrily, remembering all the pain he went through and how easily all of it could have been avoided. If you were trully that powerful as you said, if everyone trully feared you and Anne... “Why didn’t you help my parents if you are that strong? Why didn’t you protect me?”

He wanted to scream, shove you off, demand answers, blame you for everything and no one would blame him. Harry experienced so much at such a young age, when he was supposed to live his best one and knowing that he could have gotten this, with a loving family that would stay with him no matter what rather than his aunt that often blamed him for everything and the abuse he had to face so young...

And you knew... You knew it all, but he didn’t. And you couldn’t exactly tell him everything, but you could hold him and make him see how dire the situation was.

“My precious, I tried... I even threatened Dumbledore with destroying the Hogwarts and Ministry, your aunt going as far as using magic on him...” You held onto his face thightly, wiping his angry tears away. “But Voldemort was also after us and we were on run already... Though I wanted nothing less than to take you with me, I couldn’t. Not when a curse was on us, not when the Dark Lord that came from us wanted to kill us... I thought they would be better for you, since they lived in a steady house but... I forgot how some people were...” you looked down in shame after that, your own tears falling as you let out some of the stress out of yourself.

Harry’s hand shook in shame, wanting to comfort you as the world around stopped. He never thought Voldemort would be after you and Anne either, thinking that he only wanted him. But it was clear now: None of you were ever safe, and you did what you believed was right. His anger from before dissolved and he shyly took a hold of your hand, making you lift your gaze and gasp quietly...

For it wasn’t just Harry you saw, but James whenever he would come crying to you after getting injured, it was Ominis who would caress your face first thing in the morning as you prepared breakfast and the kids slept, it was Ominis who comforted you when the news of the Gaunts searching for you both reached to you...

It was your family that had to endure all the pain a human being could ever bear.

“Life hadn’t been kind to you... Had it?” Such a simple question shouldn’t have affected one so easily, perhaps not at all. But Harry wasn’t anyone, he was just a boy wo longed to have a family, a boy whose dreams were finally coming true. So, solely for that reason, Harry could no longer deny the emotions that ran through him, simply clutching your hand that held his face so softly, a mere ghost of the woman who died protecting him. He suddenly hugged you, burying his face to your neck as he seeked comfort from his last family.

For the first time, he felt like he had someone who didn’t have too much expectations from him.

“I... I'm scared. I don’t know what to do, how to do all of this! I don’t want to be the Chosen One, I just want to enjoy my teenagehood!” you shushed him gently, rocking him back and forth as your arms snaked around his waist and to his back and squeezed him thightly. You were, once again, reminded of how James would wail loudly and your sons would immediately seek you out for comfort when they were little and that only made your tear fall harder as your hand massaged Harry’s scalp softly, making him relax onto you.

“I’m sorry, darling boy... For being the reason of your suffering. When I first learnt about you, I prayed for the first time that the prophecy would slip past you... Unfortunately it didn’t and I would call you either a stupid or naive if you weren’t scared but you are no longer alone.” Both of you chuckled at your comment, Harry slowly pulled away from you and gave you that half-sad and half-happy smile as you side hugged him, bot being able to stop yourself from coddling your grandson. You comfortingly rubbed his shoulders as you both gazed at the memorial stones where six names were written.

Six names that was important to you and your family once.

Ominis Potter.

Sebastian Sallow-Potter.

Anne Sallow.

James Potter.

Lily Potter.

Regulus Black.

The last name caught Harry’s attention, the same surname that could never be a coincidence surely peeked his interest. Why was that surname was the same as his godfather’s?

“Uhm... Why does the last one have the same surname as-“ he started as you let your eyes wander to where he looked, a deep pang in your heart hurting very badly at the name written on it.

“Sirius? Oh well...” you briefly looked at the stone and then back at the two men who you considered as sons after James introduced you and then back at Harry, with a somber smile at the vision of curly, black hair and grey eyes appearing right before your own. ” It’s a long story, Harry and it is late... Maybe I will tell later, tomorrow. Let’s get inside.” You urged him inside softly, pointing to the door where everyone was seated safely. The garden was big and enormous, and the walk back was long. Longer than normal but longer enough for you to get one last thing out of your chest.

One thing you always itched to say to James, and every single person that came from you.

“I am the reason these all started again, and I will fight tooth and nail to defeat him... You don’t have to fight alone Harry, not anymore. I can’t take that Chosen One title back from you, but I can definetly protect you from it.” Harry didn’t stop you, just continued to walk next to you as sadness and warmth flooded him.

Sadness because of how badly you blamed yourself and how no one ever thought of you to be innocent, warmth because how loving and protective you were.

Definetly a great change after everything he had seen.

“I know I did many unforgivable, stupid mistakes. Mistakes that resulted with many deaths, tears and sorrow. And there isn't a day that I don’t regret over my actions, these burial stones being the reminder of them... I know I was wrong, and I don’t expect you to forgive me because Merlin knows, I wouldn’t do it if I were you-“ you were adamant on going on, doing anything so that your grandson wouldn’t hate you... so that he would understand you. This, the guilt, was one of the many things that kept you away from him for so long and though you knew it was stupid...

You didn’t want him to hate you.

But what you didn’t know, Harry would never hate you. As long as he lived, you would be the woman he would cherish and respect endlessly. And though he was still a kid, he understood how you struggled.

Being the Chosen One ran in the family, I guess?

“Grandmother, it’s okay... Though I don’t understand everything, I know you are innocent. As well as Aunt Anne...” he took your hand softly and smiled widely, showing his pearls and how true he was being. A shy look soon settled on his face and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, making you pinch his cheeks and making him whine.” Besides, we have all the time to talk about everything, no? I can’t wait to hear more about-about everything! How did you meet with Grandpa? When did you attend Hogwarts? Were you cool like those wizards and witches we heard about? Do I look like Grandpa?”

A huge grin overtook your face as you hugged him thightly, actually crunching a few painful knots in his shoulder but neither one of you cared when both of you found what was lost once.

Not when you both accepted the other as family.

And as the night breeze made both of you shiver, you patted Harry’s back when you two stood in front of the door of the house, to make him get inside before turning to look at the memorial of your lovers and family.

At least, you were finally able to keep your promise to them, albeit a bit laye... Though it was at great costs... Cost of Dark Magic.

“I wonder what you would do if you learnt the true me, my boy...” you muttered under your breath as you let your magic unfold, the golden, black, and dark red color of it illuminating your face as the darkness settled in deep in your heart.

The same darkness that clouded Sebastian...

The same one that clouded Voldemort.

You didn’t know what future would bring but there was one thing you were sure as you let your magic disappear and get inside the house, closimg the door thightly behind you after looking at the horizon...

Anyone who touched your family, would have to face the darkest witch of all times.

#ominis x sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow imagine #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis x y/n #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis x sebastian #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy x mc #hogwarts legacy x reader

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littlesparklight · 4 months

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I love your posts about the Trojan family! Are there any headcanons about them that you could share? (especially Ganymede and his immediate family's era cause I love those ones the most :) )

Hehe, thank you, anon! <3 I love the Trojan family, especially, of course, Ganymede's era and then Priam's one for Paris and Hektor hehe.

And I think I can do that~ I love thinking about the Trojan royal family. :D

Considering you can have basically a nymph wife in every other generation being married to a Trojan king in either branch of the family starting with Astyoche (daughter of Simoeis) marrying Tros' father, the whole family is marked by this connection. I don't really headcanon that mortals being born of nymphs has any physical/visual effects as such on them (I go with nymphs generally just looking like human women), aside from... uh, beauty "infusions"? But that doesn't mean there aren't effects! All of the following would only work in fresh water, not the ocean: -Literally all of them can either keep their breath for extended periods of time, or straight up breathe underwater. -They don't really need to learn how to swim. They might need a refresher a couple years after birth, but that's not really swimming lessons so much as "lead them into the river and let them dog paddle a couple moments, done". -They can see really well underwater, though it's doubtful anyone ever realises this is weird. Unlike being able to stay below for an extended length of time, it's far less easily noticed by others as something off from what they can do.

Xanthos and Simoeis have turned up for each and every birth of their direct or extended grandchildren in Troy or Dardanos. When it comes to Priam's children, this got restricted to those born of Hecuba (but Aesacus also got this 'blessing', since at that point his mother was Priam's primary wife). Aeneas was visited when Aphrodite handed the infant to the nymphs who raised him for his first five years on Ida. Only Paris wasn't visited at his birth - but he has, however (even if he doesn't know that she is his ultimate grandmother) been visited by the goddess-nymph of Mount Ida, Idaea, before he was reunited with his family.

There's a tacit agreement that only one daughter of either Xanthos or Simoeis will marry into the family in each generation (at most). Why it was Assaracus, who isn't the oldest son, instead of Ilus, who got to marry a nymph, is because he was already involved with her before Ilus was looking to marry. He didn't marry before his older brother, but it was obvious he and Hieroneme were going to do so, so Ilus looked elsewhere and married a mortal woman. (Laomedon "makes up" for it by being involved with two daughters of Xanthos lol (possibly three? We don't know who Calybe's father is) One that he married, one that was simply a mutual fling. save yourselves, girls!!! I suppose he has divine dick-skills or something.)

The beauty of nymphs isn't actually where the famed beauty of Troy's royal line stems from! It's undoubtedly why the daughters are beautiful, but as it's especially the sons who are given a certain beauty, it actually comes from Dardanos himself, and thus from Zeus. The first and only time divine-like beauty was conferred on one of the demigod sons of Zeus, and it uh, had effects, as we know.

I feel like Xanthos gifted Erichthonios his first mares (maybe as a wedding gift?), and this is where the whole ~horse connection comes from; the herd grew ungodly fast and Boreas, uh, taking an interest, meant the horses descended from those were particularly fine and could fetch some great prices when sold/or favour and prestige when gifted.

Ganymede kept up with his brothers and sisters' lives. He might only have ended up visiting Troy when his father died, but he was well aware of what was happening. Basically, he had a sort of long-distance relationship to his family, even if it was sort of one-sided, but it kept a connection up for him, which was important! It let him still feel involved.

Like I've mentioned before, I don't go with Tros' son Ilus founding Troy, because I lean more into the real world here. What I do, instead, is have Dardanos' son, the first Ilus, help extend and build up the already extant settlement into something greater, and it keeps building from there. Ganymede's brother Ilus merely becomes one of the greatest Trojan kings and does a lot for the city, etc. I headcanon he built a new shrine/temple to Athena for both her and the Palladium (and that the cow omen mentioned in Apollodorus has to do where to put said temple, not the city as a whole).

I originally headcanoned Kallirhoe dying with her husband, and obviously this still applies for my fic-verse. But it's also just annoying when most of what I see is how alone and depressed and without family connections Ganymede is, so I also definitely very much like the idea of Kallirhoe living quite a long time afterwards, and that she becomes one of his main familial connections alongside Xanthos, now that she's back within the divine sphere.

I headcanon the Palladium is tied to the Trojan royal bloodline specifically, through Elektra. I basically go with that it was given to her directly, and then handed on to Dardanos as he left Samothrace. (Blending a scholia and a 4th century CE source.) It does have a protective effect even in Rome, but as the blood connection to the royal family (via Aeneas and thus later the gens Julia) is extremely thin at that point, it's not at all a very strong protection.

Green is the eye colour for fresh-water nymphs! (Blue for ocean-connected ones.) Which means the whole Trojan royal family have green eyes in various shades and degree, and it is always very bright and intense colour. Around the generation of Priam's children hazel has become more usual, but even then the green element is very obvious and still more-than-mortal intense/bright.

Xanthos and Simoeis tacitly agree not to marry any of their daughters into Priam/Anchises' generation (or the one after), exactly because they can tell something is coming. It's nothing against the family suddenly, in fact especially Xanthos becomes more actively protective, but they don't want to tie any of their daughters into what might be tragedy. (It becomes far more of a tragedy than they'd assumed, however, which both affirms their choice but also horrifies them both.)

#greek mythology #trojan family #ganymede #trojan war #greek myth thoughts #dfhvjfd this got... long #but thank you anon it let me pull together a lot of thoughts!#asks

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notthesomefather · 1 year

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Heimdall: Guardian, Liberator, Other

Heimdall is one of the more enigmatic figures in the Norse pantheon, despite there being a fair amount of material regarding the god. I've spent time researching Heimdall's role in the myths, the Norse cosmology, and modern heathenry. This is primarily a buffet of thoughts I'm offering up, so I hope it's helpful in some way!

So let's start with what we do know. We know Heimdall:

guards the Bifrost with unmatched eyesight and hearing;

was born of nine mothers (most frequently understood to be the nine daughters of Aegir and Ran);

has golden teeth, a mighty sword, and a horn which he will blow to signal Ragnarok;

is a watchman for all the Aesir and Vanir, but is particularly protective of Freyja/Frigg;

fights with Loki twice: once to win back Frigga's necklace, and another time, a mutually-lethal battle with Loki again at Ragnarok;

fathered the basic social classes in Rígsþula (or Rígsmál). This is the item I want to explore most, in a bit.

Concerning his classification, it is tricky to define what Heimdall is precisely. H.R. Ellis Davidson writes: "We have a good deal of material about this god, and the figure which emerges from Snorri's description of him and from references in the poems is that of a mysterious, impressive power, with a strong personality of his own. He does not however fit into any recognized category among the divinities."

He is called the "White As," so he would be a member of the Aesir, right? Well his mothers are elemental spirits of the ocean, born of the Jotuns Aegir and Ran, so he'd be part Jotun, right? But what of his reproduction/fertility ties with the Rig myth and his connection to Freyja--would he be part of the Vanir? There is also an additional categorization that may fit best but offers more questions than answers:

"Interestingly, Heimdall is referred to as "muddy-backed,"" writes Patricia Lafayllve. "Since he has the mud of Yggdrasil and Wyrd on him, he may be more akin to the Norns themselves, and part of the larger cosmology..."

Regardless of how Heimdall fits into the divine org-chart, his involvement with (and impact on) humanity and Midgard is matched only by Odin and Thor. This brings me to the last point I want to touch on: Heimdall and the creation of social classes. It's not a comfortable fact that many cultures operating during the "Viking era" had strict social classes, including thralldom and slavery. How, then, can we, as modern heathens, interpret the myth of Rig, and what can we take away from it?

"The idea of physically distinct classes of humanity, seemingly destined by nature to servitude farming, and rulership, is problematic for modern readers," Diana Paxton writes. "[This myth] has been called a repellent poem, with clear intimations of a kind of racism implicit in the description of the various social classes. Yet on closer examination, it does not support the idea of fixed social classes in a divinely ordained hierarchy. The human parents are named great-grandfather and great-grandmother, grandfather and grandmother, and father and mother. Heimdall is clearly watching over a lineage through the generations. One could read this myth as an account of the evolution of human culture… In this reading, humans liberate themselves, and at times, Heimdall provides sparks of divinity to move this process along. In short…Heimdall could be seen as a bringer of liberation."

That interpretation was beneficial to me. I'd never known what to do with this myth, and it seemed too big to ignore, but reading it through this lens helped immensely. Heimdall could inspire our society to create equity across different professions. He could be someone to ask when we pray for our world's societal advancement toward empathy, dignity, and justice.

Sources under the cut.

Everyman Edda. Snorri Sturluson, translated by Anthony Faulkes. Pages 25, 75-76.

Myths of the Norsemen. Helene A. Guerber. Page 156.

A Practical Heathen's Guide to Asatru. Patricia Lafayllve. Page 44.

Gods and Myths of the Viking Age. H.R. Ellis Davidson. Pages 172 and page 176.

Our Troth, Volume 2: Heathen Gods. Ben Waggoner and Diana Paxton. Page 387.

#heimdall #heathen #asatru #norse #pagan #norse mythology #polytheist #paganism

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bougainvillea-and-saltwater · 1 month

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Please please tell me ANYTHING about your oc Jia because I'm so fascinated with the concept of Septim dynasty still being alive in the events of Skyrim.

(Also because I have a whole story on draft about Martin having a child who somehow was looked away for 200 years and coming back during the timeline of Skyrim)

HI!!! First off, thank you so much for the ask, and I’m so sorry in advance for the infodump that follows…🥹

So, about Jia, she’s Martin Septim’s great-granddaughter. For my story, I have outlined the plan where Martin had a fling with one of the Blade agents who were sent to find him and keep him safe during the Oblivion Crisis. Eventually, the woman became pregnant with a child, though with the Thalmor menace and the fact that she carried a Septim descendant, she managed to ‘disappear’ by fleeing Cyrodiil, changing her identity and her looks altogether, and thus successfully protecting herself and her child. The years passed peacefully, her daughter grew up and built her own family, and that was when Jia’s father was born to her. Remus is… a complicated being, but the short story is that he had the ‘gift’ of foresight, prophetic dreams like Uriel Septim VII had, and so it was revealed to him he was of the Septim dynasty, something his grandmother fought tooth and nail to hide... Those visions showed him Sky Haven Temple in Skyrim and called him towards a Nord woman who was destined to be the mother of his daughter: the last heir of the Septims, as well the Last Dragonborn—that’s my Jia. Without spoiling much, eventually, the Thalmor do discover about her father’s and later about her heritage, and well, the fact that a Septim Dragonborn walks Nirn again by the time a war of succession is ongoing on Skyrim can be quite scandalous for all sides…

Septims are very equivalent to the Targaryens from GoT, in my headcanon. Tiber Septim has very Aegon the Conqueror vibes, Pelagius the Mad can be linked to the Mad King Aerys, Uriel Septim VII to either King Jaehaerys the Wise or King Viserys the Peaceful… Also, Targaryen women were said to be very strongly connected to blood magic, and in TES we have Queen Potema with her necromantic talents… Not to mention the dragon blood and the connection to the dragons. But the most precarious trait they share is the madness. There was this saying in ASOIAF about the Targaryens, that when a new Targaryen is born the Gods flip a coin—one side of sanity and the other of madness—and the world holds its breath to see how it lands. The same can be said for Jia, a Septim and a Dragonborn, neither full dragon nor full mortal, who knows that she can seize not only Skyrim’s throne, but the Ruby Throne itself, astride Odahviing and become a tyrant and oppressor as a dragon can naturally be, ‘a plague for the future generations’ as Arngeir tells us in-game; or she can be gentle and good and fair like her great-grandfather was before her. And I’d love to see the road she’ll choose in her story…👀💖

I’m very curious, what’s your take on Martin’s secret heir appearing during the events of Skyrim? 👀

#thank you so much for this! it really made me write down my Unhinged Thoughts™ a bit more coherently...🥹#asks #oc: jia #martin septim #last dragonborn #tes

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uptoolateart · 6 months

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Where We Find Ourselves Again - Ch 12

PREVIEW:

Chloe eased down onto her sofa, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She scrolled through the camera roll on her phone, smiling at the latest impromptu ‘photoshoot’ of her daughter.

Izabel was easily the best thing to happen to her – her greatest achievement. Those gorgeous dark eyes inherited from her father. That luscious hair inherited from Chloe. And the way she posed…. It was like a second instinct – incredible, bearing in mind she’d never even met her grandmother Audrey. It was like fashion was in the blood.

It was time for another major upload to her social media account, to remind everyone she’d won the Mother jackpot with her Izzy. Frankly, that was the only reason she’d even signed up for this account. Some people latched onto social media to hold onto their pasts like precious antiques. But not her. She had zero interest in keeping up with everyone – practically negative interest. Why move to Rio just to keep doing the same thing she was doing in Paris?

She opened the app, her finger moving for the ‘New Post’ button – when a message notification grabbed her attention. Probably Sabrina, off on her latest charity mission somewhere, sharing another reel of a cat being stupid.

Preparing herself for a good laugh, she tapped the notification and…blinked at the screen.

Lila Rossi?

Good god. She hadn’t thought of her in years. They’d never really been friends. More like…acquaintances drawn together by a mutual dislike of that baker girl. One more thing she’d put behind her when she’d run off with Leo to Brazil – just like she’d put Lila behind her. You couldn’t build connections based on common hatred. You couldn’t build anything on hatred.

But…maybe Lila had learned that, too. After all, they were nearly forty now. Surely no one was still hung up on stuff from when they were in school…right? She probably just got drunk last night and looked her up and sent a totally generic message about…well, how gorgeous Izabel was, of course. What else would anyone message her about, who didn’t know her personally?

So why was her heart pounding…some instinct telling her not to open that message?

‘Ugh. Chloe Cardoso, you are being ridiculous – utterly ridiculous!’ She stabbed at the phone and brought up the message.

Lila: Hey!!! Long time no speak!! Your daughter is GORGEOUS. So I know it’s been FOREVER but I just found out the most INSANE NEWS about Adrien and Marinette. I know, I know, who cares about those losers anymore?? But this is BIG, Chloe. Like…BIG. It changes EVERYTHING.

Read at Ao3

#chloe redemption arc #ml fic #ml au #ml fanfic #adrinette #chloe bourgeois #lila rossi #ml adrien #ml marinette #married adrinette #miraculous fanworks #miraculous ladybug #mlb #ml fandom

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julie-su · 8 months

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Still left frustrated that KTE and it's surrounding issues sew the seeds of 'Generational trauma sucks' and then goes on to flop the landing with 'but that's your FATHER, he's trying his BEST, so you have to love him. okay?!' -- A good point was almost made.. Then squandered. And I suppose it comes down to "Damn, dude, I think you shouldn't have tried to work this one out under the licensed Sonic The Hedgehog Comics".

I mean- that's what was set up with Janelle-Li, Athair, Sabre, and Locke, wasn't it? As much as we all tend to hand-waive the swirling depths of these comics, there are clear lines to be drawn.. Or perhaps I'm playing 'death of the author' to see this one out. Either way - Janelle-Li is dying, and Athair, Sabre's father and daughter of Janelle-Li, refuses to leave his place as Mitre of the Lost Tribe, deeming it an act of religeous importance* This frustrates Sabre, who sees Athair as cruel and heartless, thus he seperates from his father to see his grandmother before she passes on.

This sews the seeds of an apathy for religeon in Locke, who goes on to roll his eyes every time his ex-wife brings up Echidna Theology; of course, she is an avid studier, and frequently visits the.. Aurorium.. (Aurora is a once-echidna, who had evolved into a higher being with her connection to the Chaos Force, appearing to those sometimes to aide with their issues. Y'know.. Like Jesus, but not! I say once-echidna, as she appears to suit whichever species of mobian she visits.) ... ... This leads Knuckles to have not a clue about Echidna Theology, even so in that he feels uncomfortable stepping foot in the Aurorium, without much of a thought as to why.

*Echidna Theology is thus influenced by The Ancient Walkers, who are highly connected to the Chaos Force - who very much fortold of dangers coming, and their great wisdom was documented into the Tomes - which are essentially Echidna Religeous Texts.

... It's just.. There's clearly a strong thought put into the understanding of cyclitical generational trauma; even when we have moments in Penders' stories of Locke going 'hmm, I know I've gone wrong' as we explore how 'chucking your kid into the wilderness and waiting to see if he copes' is an archaic training method set by Rembrandt, after his first son died on a lone mission... Rembrandt being a guardian from 11 generations before Knuckles. That's a lot of years of chucking your kid out into the wilderness! (Though, interestingly, it seems that in the middle, Tobor lived at home with his mother, with sporadic visits from his father, until presumably he came 'of age'.)

I suppose I wrote all of this to say; I feel like removing "Locke being a bad father" in an act to fix his character feels antithetical to what story was being told, and also does a disservice to the story itself. I'd much rather see stories where we explore the trauma and cyclitical abuse, and call it for what it is - not unlike Flynn's run with Locke. There are some really fun plot threads to follow if you allow yourself to really pull the story apart and look at its ooey, gooey innards (... And a lot more things to complain about, but I get that part out in private chats, HEY-OO!)

Well, my final write-off is; I wrote all of this at 1am, incredibly sick, and off my konk.. so if I've misremembered anything, do tell me.. POLITELY, in asks or replies ^^

#Archie sonic

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elegantwoes · 2 years

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Sansa Stark 2022 Month - Day 5: Mother

Sansa and Catelyn Meta || More similar than you think

We all know the general consensus when it comes to Sansa Stark. Despite the physical appearance she shares with her mother Sansa is arguably more like her father in terms of personality, and that is evident in Ned's twelfth AGOT chapter and Catelyn's seveth ACOK chapter. When you contrast and compare you can see Sansa shares Ned's more calm and kinder approach and even how he tries to sympathize with their enemy despite the pain and suffering they caused to the Stark family.

However despite the obvious difference that doesn't mean there is no similarity between Sansa and Catelyn. In this meta I am going to delve deeper into that parallel and the similarities that Sansa Stark and Catelyn Tully share:

Riverlands

Politics

Woman's bravery

Sharp Wit

Motherhood

Riverlands:

At first glance it doesn't seem like Sansa has a lot of connection to the Riverlands, but one of the more notable ones, is the Whent imagery in her chapters - the house her maternal grandmother and Catelyn's mother (Minisa Tully) is part of:

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head." (A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII).

The second one is the dragonflies motif that has been present with Sansa since the beginning of the tv-show (x, x). A very fitting motif, because not only does the dragonfly change, transformation, adaptability, and self-realization, and Sansa goes through all of this in her character arc, but it also ties back to her love for songs and stories - Jenny Old Stones and the Prince of Dragonflies. Jenny in particular has quite the similarities with Sansa:

Jenny claimed descent from long-vanished kings of the First Men. The ruined castles of Oldstones was once the seat of House Mudd.

The connection that Jenny has to the Riverlands and the First Men reminds you of Sansa Stark who is both a Stark (First Men) and a Tully (Riverlands). Interestingly enough in fan art Jenny Oldstones is often depicted to have red hair - connecting herself more to the Tullys and also to Sansa (x, x, x). Catelyn also has her own part that connects her to this song. Back when she was a child she often renacted the story of Duncan and Jenny with Littlefinger and her sister Lysa.

Politics:

While this ability is on the rusty side due to crippling self esteem and lack of experience, it should be noted that Sansa has quite the talent for looking at situations with a critical eye. That is evident here when Sansa examines the reward Littlefinger gets in her last ACOK chapter:

Joffrey laughed, and the court with him. Lord Paramount of the Trident, Sansa thought, and Lord of Harrenhal as well. She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He'll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must. (A Clash of Kings - Sansa VIII)

Sansa accurately notes that the Lannisters have no right to give Harrenhal away, because the castle isn't in their possession. Nor would the bannermen of Lord Hoster Tully ever accept Littlefinger as their Lord Paramount unless they have a scheme up their sleeve. Sansa basically predicted the Red Wedding well ahead. This is no different from her Lady Mother, Catelyn Tully, who figured out what Hoster Tully did to Lysa years ago, by only hearing a couple of delirious words from her father's mouth:

Could Tansy be some pet name he called Lysa, the way he called me Cat? Lord Hoster had mistaken her for her sister before. You'll have others, he said. Sweet babes, and trueborn. Lysa had miscarried five times, twice in the Eyrie, thrice at King's Landing . . . but never at Riverrun, where Lord Hoster would have been at hand to comfort her. Never, unless . . . unless she was with child, that first time . . . (A Storm of Swords - Catelyn I)

Not only this but both Sansa and Catelyn immediately notice that tension is brewing in the Vale, despite being there for a short while.

Catelyn was at a loss for words, Jon Arryn's son, she thought incredulously. She remembered her own baby, three-year-old Rickon, half the age of this boy and five times as fierce. Small wonder the lords of the Vale were restive. - Catelyn VI AGOT

and

From bits and pieces of overheard conversations Sansa knew that Jon Arryn's bannermen resented Lysa's marriage and begrudged Petyr his authority as Lord Protector of the Vale. The senior branch of House Royce was close to open revolt over her aunt's failure to aid Robb in his war, and the Waynwoods, Redforts, Belmores, and Templetons were giving them every support. (A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII)

Woman's courage:

A song of Ice and Fire is not short on characters who show a lot of courage but here we are going to talk about a specific kind of bravery that Brienne called a woman's courage:

"No, but you have courage. Not battle courage perhaps but . . . I don't know . . . a kind of woman's courage.

The type of courage that doesn't require physical strength, but inner strength instead, and Sansa, just like her Lady Mother, shows a tremendous amount of it.

It's when she goes in front of court and where she so sweetly and bravely plead forgiveness for her father's sake. Make no mistake this takes a lot of bravery, not just because of how big King's Landing throne room true is to GRRM's imagination, but also how much risk it put Sansa in:

She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan’s white cloak lay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate. “Do you have some business for king and council, Sansa?” the queen asked from the council table. “I do.” She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on his fearsome black throne. “As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.” She had practiced the words a hundred times.

Or when she, in spite of feeling fear of dying herself, bravely stood up and took on the duties that Cersei abandoned and calmed the people's fear:

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. "Don't be afraid," she told them loudly. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There's thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . ." "What's happened?" demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. "What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?" "Tell us," someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son. Sansa raised her hands for quiet. "Joffrey's come back to the castle. He's not hurt. They're still fighting, that's all I know, they're fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon." The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. "Moon Boy, make us laugh."

This is no different from Catelyn who grabbed onto valyrian steels bravely and fiercely regardless of her own safety just to protect her son Bran:

She reached up with both hands and grabbed the blade with all her strength, pulling it away from her throat. She heard him cursing into her ear. Her fingers were slippery with blood, but she would not let go of the dagger.

Or when Catelyn who in spite of feeling a deep sense of grudge over what happened to Ned or Bran, she values peace and wants the fighting to end as soon as possible, so she can take care of her remaining loved ones. That takes a great deal of bravery and inner strength:

“He wouldn’t . . . you’d never make a peace with Stannis, would you? Bend the knee? You wouldn’t . . .” “I will tell you true, Brienne. I do not know. My son may be a king, but I am no queen . . . only a mother who would keep her children safe, however she could.” “I am not made to be a mother. I need to fight.” “Then fight . . . but for the living, not the dead. Renly’s enemies are Robb’s enemies as well.”

Sharp Wit:

Sharp wit has been a skill in Sansa's repertoire for quite some while now, but though this skill has been used in defense through most of the books Sansa has been in, in her The Winds of Winter chapter sample we see Alayne/Sansa taking her armor of courtesy and morphing it into a sword, and Sansa uses this sword very well.

The first example of this is when Harrold Hardying confronts Sansa after he has humiliated her in front of his foster family, and asks her forgiveness. Sansa, who at this point has been subjugated far too much at the hand of men and them making a habit of demanding something out of her, and likely is completely done with this, tells him a big fat no:

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?" She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so." Color rose to his cheeks. "I was unforgiveably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me." "Must?" She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. "How can you forgive someone who is unforgiveably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?"

Even when she does agree to dance with him in the end, Sansa doesn't stop holding fire to his feet:

Besides, Petyr said that I should not seem eager. Instead she said, “I have heard that you are about to be a father.” It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie ... “Saffron?” Alayne tried not to laugh. “Truly?” Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. “Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He’s rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices.” “What will you name the babe?” she asked. “Cinnamon if she’s a girl? Cloves if he’s a boy?” That almost made him stumble. “My lady japes.” “Oh, no.” Ser Harrold studied her face. “You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father.” “Little pointy beard and all?” Alayne laughed. “I never meant…“ “I hope you joust better than you talk.”

Another good example is when Sansa tries to help Lady Myranda who is being harassed by so called "knights". However, in her attempt to rescue her dear friend, Sansa is caught in the middle, and ends up being oggled by one of them. Sansa humiliates him in return:

“Alayne!” cried Myranda Royce, from a carved stone bench beneath a beech tree, where she was seated between two men. She looked in need of rescue. Smiling, Alayne walked toward her friend. .... He was staring so intently at Myranda’s breasts that he hardly noticed Alayne until Myranda rose to hug her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you” Randa whispered in her ear .... Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, “Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.” It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. “And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?” Alayne asked him. “You are young to be so widely travelled.” He blushed, which only made his pimples look angrier. “No, my lady. I am from Gulltown.”

By the looks of her sample chapter Sansa seems to be completely fed up being treated rudely and getting sexualized by men. And if she can be like this while masquerading as the bastard daughter of a highly unpopular lord protector in the most snobbish and classist region of Westeros, imagine what she will be like, once she assumes her identity as Sansa Stark, and is in Winterfell, where she's likely to hold the position that her lady mother once held?

Sansa's behavior in the The Winds of Winter chapter sample really reminds you of Catelyn who has no problem sharing her opinion and calling people out when it's neccessary, especially men:

"While he lives," Renly admitted. "Though it's a fool's law, wouldn't you agree? Why the oldest son, and not the best-fitted? The crown will suit me, as it never suited Robert and would not suit Stannis. I have it in me to be a great king, strong yet generous, clever, just, diligent, loyal to my friends and terrible to my enemies, yet capable of forgiveness, patient—" "—humble?" Catelyn supplied.

Another man was fallen, trapped beneath his injured horse, both of them screaming in pain. Squires rushed out to aid them. This is madness, Catelyn thought. Real enemies on every side and half the realm in flames, and Renly sits here playing at war like a boy with his first wooden sword.

and:

"I call it weak." Lord Randyll Tarly had a short, bristly grey beard and a reputation for blunt speech. "No disrespect to you, Lady Stark, but it would have been more seemly had Lord Robb come to pay homage to the king himself, rather than hiding behind his mother's skirts." "King Robb is warring, my lord," Catelyn replied with icy courtesy, "not playing at tourney." Renly grinned. "Go softly, Lord Randyll, I fear you're overmatched."

Nor does she have a problem calling out her own son Robb when she believes his actions go too far, especially when it concerns the wellbeing of her daughters:

"Don't call me the boy," Robb said, rounding on his uncle, his anger spilling out all at once on poor Edmure, who had only meant to support him. "I'm almost a man grown, and a king—your king, ser. And I don't fear Jaime Lannister. I defeated him once, I'll defeat him again if I must, only . . ." He pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. "I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but . . ." ". . . but not for the girls?" Her voice was icy quiet. "Girls are not important enough, are they?"

Another aspect where Sansa and Catelyn share a resemblance when it comes to wit is how Tyrion, a very misogynistic character who is not known for complimenting women on their intellect, notices it and makes commentary about it:

''Tyrion led Sansa around the yard, to perform the necessary courtesies. 'She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he’d left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel’s hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he’d had the sense to love her'

Tyrion notes that Sansa's wit, her ability to work the room and charm people rivals that of any queen. Which reminds me of how he, albeit bregrudingly, admitted that Catelyn has outwitted him at every turn:

This is the high road,” he gasped, looking at Lady Stark with accusation. “The eastern road. You said we were riding for Winterfell!” Catelyn Stark favored him with the faintest of smiles. “Often and loudly,” she agreed. “No doubt 'your friends will ride that way when they come after us. I wish them good speed.” Even now, long days later, the memory filled him with a bitter rage. All his life Tyrion had prided himself on his cunning, the only gift the gods had seen fit to give him, and yet this seven-times-damned she-wolf Catelyn Stark had outwitted him at every turn. The knowledge was more galling than the bare fact of his abduction.'

Motherhood:

When you look at Sansa's Vale arc it's easy to notice how similar her situation is to Ned's childhood. Being a 'daughter' of a 'father' (Jon Arryn/Petyr Baelish), befriending a Baratheon (Mya Stone/Robert Baratheon). However, what is less noticable, but no less important. is how Sansa's arc in the Vale resemblances Catelyn's own childhood as well; a young teenage girl assuming the role of Lady of the Keep and playing the role of pseudo mother for a much younger boy. Who am I talking about here, Sansa or Catelyn? The answer is both.

Sweetrobin seems to be the 'Edmure' to Sansa's 'Catelyn' and it's through this relationship we first hand get to not only see what Sansa's future potential parenting skills would be, but also how she would raise her eldest son who would be her heir. The first instance of that is how Lysa introduces us to Sweetrobin:

"Robert has weak eyes, but he loves to be read to," Lady Lysa confided. "He likes stories about animals the best. Do you know the little song about the chicken who dressed as a fox? I sing him that all the time, he never grows tired of it.

We get to know that Sweetrobin likes a children's song. However by the time we get to the first Sansa chapter in AFFC little Robert seems to favor the stories of the winged knight and begs Sansa/Alayne if she can read it to him:

"No," he said, "but I'm not going. I want to stay in bed. You could read to me about the Winged Knight." The Winged Knight was Ser Artys Arryn. Legend said that he had driven the First Men from the Vale and flown to the top of the Giant's Lance on a huge falcon to slay the Griffin King. There were a hundred tales of his adventures. Little Robert knew them all so well he could have recited them from memory, but he liked to have them read to him all the same.

Sweetrobin who once liked a very childlike song meant for young children suddenly seems to favor a story more fit for a young boy who is on the road to grow up. In a span of a couple weeks Sansa already started the process of young Robert unlearning the toxic coddled mindset. An impressive feat if you think about.

And this isn't the only way she works to make him grow up. In Sansa's first AFFC chapter we see Sweetrobin nas tried to slip into Sansa's bed several times and even going so far as nuzzling into her breasts, a habit that was indulged on Lysa's part. However Sansa quickly puts it to stop by forcing him to stay in his own bedroom:

I know you were. Sweetrobin had been accustomed to crawling in beside his mother, until she wed Lord Petyr. Since Lady Lysa’s death he had taken to wandering the Eyrie in quest of other beds. The one he liked best was Sansa’s . .. which was why she had asked Ser Lothor Brune to lock his door last night.

This scene has been often used to show how awful Sansa is to Sweetrobin, but if you think about it, is it really? Learning how to sleep in your own bedroom is something all children have to learn and at some point Sweetrobin has to grow up. Sansa using this tough love method on him early on will be benficial to young Robert in the long run.

Another iexample where see Sansa's parenting skills is when Sansa comes up with the idea for the Winged Knight's Tourney for Robert:

It was clever. The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert’s mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave. And no sooner did she tell Petyr her idea than he went out and made it happen.

I don't think many are appreciative of this brilliant move, because this winged knight tourney has several purposes.

Surrounding him with the winged knights would help young Robert feel more saver and less scared and therefore he would likely get less seizures.

Having proper role models around him could inspire him to get more braver and stronger just like the winged knights.

By giving young Robert a group of knights who would serve him as the King's guard, she is not only asserting his identity as Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East, but by also keeping the young heirs around Robert they could foster a stronger relationship with him and make the young heirs, who are future Vale bannermen, more loyal to young Robert in the future.

If that wasn't enough, there's even a fourth purpose to this. In the long run it could work in favor for Sansa in the future when she decides to go against Littlefinger. By organizing this winged knight tourney Sansa is imposing herself in the eyes of the lords as a parental figure, which will be highlighted even more once she shed's her Alayne persona for her Stark one. Even if Sansa reveals she played a part in hiding Lysa's true killer to Yohn Royce and/or Anya Waynwood, it would likely not affect her credibility, because she has been showing all along she was on young Robert's side, through her motherly act towards Sweetrobin. Sansa is essentially undermining Littlefinger and unknowingly setting him up through her kindness and he’s not even aware of it.

All of this is possible not just because of Sansa's own intelligence and her innate ability to be kind, but also the almost effortless strict but loving and kind motherly act towards young Robert, which is very reminiscent of her own mother Catelyn, especially how she is with her own eldest son Robb:

Catelyn gave her firstborn a challenging look. "If you are to rule in the north, you must think these things through, Robb. Answer your own question. Why would anyone want to kill a sleeping child?" ...

The way Catelyn refuses to coddle Robb and hold his hand through everything shows where Sansa got that tactic from.

Another instance is that despite wanting to protect Robb from any danger Catelyn knows that sending Robb back to Winterfell would damage his reputation in the eyes of the bannermen, and therefore prevent from properly ruling over the North:

“Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Helman Tallhart … you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice.” “They are not Starks,” he said. “They are men, Robb, seasoned in battle. You were fighting with wooden swords less than a year past.” She saw anger in his eyes at that, but it was gone as quick as it came, and suddenly he was a boy again. “I know,” he said, abashed. “Are you … are you sending me back to Winterfell?” Catelyn sighed. “I should. You ought never have left. Yet I dare not, not now. You have come too far. Someday these lords will look to you as their liege. If I pack you off now, like a child being sent to bed without his supper, they will remember, and laugh about it in their cups. The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear. I will not do that to you[…]'

So while Sansa does act and think like her father she emulates herself like Catelyn and that is just as much valid as the similarities Sansa shares with Ned. In conclusion, Sansa Stark is such a beautiful and refreshing combination of both Ned and Catelyn and still a very unique and multifaceted character that can not only stand on her own feet but also can surpass both her parents.

#ASOIAF #Sansa Stark #Catelyn Stark #Catelyn Tully #sansamonth2022 #sansaappreciationfest2022 #valyrianscrolls

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duhdumb89 · 5 months

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A Forbidden Happiness | Chapter 20

The Empress Dowager's birthday celebration lasted throughout the week. With that over, The Empress was organizing the back palace and the children for the hunt. Prince hadn't seen her in anything more than passing, so when he heard that The Emperor was staying the night in Yikungong, he stopped by for dinner.

Prince Han did his best to keep the smile when he saw The Empress eating dinner alone. It was mid-month, so The Emperor was supposed to spend the night in Yikungong. Instead, he was probably convalescing at Xiang gui ren's bedside. It was a bit much. She wasn't dying. She had a scratch on her face.

The Empress piled his plate full the moment he sat down.

"Is His Majesty spending the night at Chengqiangong?"

"No, more missives were delivered, so His Majesty is spending the night at Yanxindian to work on them. You know he likes to do as much as possible before we're set to leave. In fact–"

Laying her chopsticks down, The Empress grabbed Prince Han's hands with an alarmingly familiar look on her face.

Prince Han felt like running.

"–This year's hunt is going to be very special,"

"Really?" Prince Han tried to tug his hand away, "Are the game reports good? Shall I hunt a leopard for you?"

"Who cares about all that? The stars have finally aligned. All the families are bringing along a daughter of marriageable age. Even General Batu! Zhishi, Xiurong will be there!"

Prince Han hoped the smile on his face didn't look as painful as it felt, "Oh...is she?"

"Yes! It was a shame you couldn't speak to her at Royal Grandmother's banquet, but you did see her, right? She's grown even more beautiful,"

Of course, Prince Han had seen her. How could he not? The Empress ensured Xiurong sat directly across from him the entire evening. Prince Han had appreciated her whole visage while hiding from her later that night. Had Jiayi not saved him, he would've spent the night in the streets. From the moment The Empress forced them to meet five years ago, Prince Han did his best to avoid her.

It wasn't anything against Xiurong. In the few moments they've spent together, Prince Han could be assured that Xiurong was a kind, beautiful, well-bred woman that wouldn't be anything other than a perfect wife. That was the problem.

Prince Han didn't want a wife.

Well, he did eventually want a wife, just not now. It was a ridiculous thought and an unfilial one as well. What 19-year-old man didn't marry? By the time His Majesty was 19, he and The Empress had been together for years. There was just so much he hadn't done yet. So many places he hadn't been. So much glory left to be wrought in the name of the Great Qing. How could he be by His Majesty's side at a moment's notice with a wife and child at home? It just wouldn't do. It would be best to avoid it and Xiurong altogether. General Batu would get the message and marry Xiurong to another well connected man. Prince Han could make it to 25 as a single man if he were lucky. He knew he was being ungrateful. So many people would kill to see their wife before their wedding day. Prince Han had the chance to pick her and didn't want it.

"You can marry sometime after the new year," said The Empress, bringing plates of sweet cakes closer to him, "And during the draft, His Majesty can find a few cefujin and concubines for you. Once you're engaged, we can start building your house in the capital. There are some nice plots of land–"

"Mother, please," said Prince Han, his head spinning.

"Mother?" Echoed The Empress, "It's been some time since you've called me that. Shall I go back to calling you Shishi?"

Prince Han felt his cheeks redden, "Please don't. I'm just thinking, Yian will be ready to marry in a few years, too. I don't want to steal this sort of thing away from him when I have Royal Mother to find a wife for me,"

It was a little mean to bring up The Empress Dowager like this. She had never taken one ounce of interest in him. The idea that she was thinking about his marriage was laughable. If The Empress Dowager had her way, he'd be unmarried until the day he died, and The Empress knew that.

"I'm...sure Royal Mother could do that, but as she gets older, this sort of thing can stress her out. I don't mind taking over. Speaking of Yian, it would be a crime if he married before you. I won't have it,"

"Fine, fine, if I have any spare time between hunting bears and foxes for you, I'll spend some time with Xiurong,"

The Empress smiled, "That's all I ask,"

Prince Han wondered how long The Empress would continue to ask. These conversations made him miss The Emperor even more. His Majesty never pestered him over marriage. Whenever The Empress brought these sorts of things up, His Majesty would happily take his side, saying that there was no harm in Prince Han being unmarried for a bit longer.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful but comfortable. The Empress happily regaled him with the going-ons of the back palace. She was animated in a way that he rarely saw in front of the concubines. It was like he was sitting with his mother instead of The Empress.

"Your Highness," interrupted Jerjer gugu, "A eunuch from the Imperial Hospital is here. Sixth Prince is ill,"

"Send him in," said The Empress.

"Your Highness The Empress, Sixth Prince has a cough and a fever. The doctor is asking you to approve his treatment,"

"The Imperial Hospital doesn't usually need my approval for little colds like this," said The Empress.

"Sixth Prince nursemaids reported that he's been ill for days, unable to sleep and eat from the coughs and has a fever and night chills," said the eunuch.

"Days?! Why didn't anyone report this to Her Highness sooner?" Asked Prince Han.

The eunuch cowered, "I–I don't know. I was only told to report to Her Highness. Please forgive me!"

"My lord, please calm down," said Jerjer gugu, "If Sixth Prince's nursemaids waited so long to report, his illness must have suddenly taken a turn for the worst,"

"Fetch my raised chair," The Empress said before turning to Prince Han, "You don't have to wait for me to return. You can go back and rest,"

Prince Han shook his head, "I'll meet you there,"

Sang'er borrowed a lantern, and the two stepped out into the night.

"My lord," said Sang'er, "Are you alright?"

Prince Han shook his head, "Walk faster," he ordered.

Sang'er wouldn't understand Prince Han's urgency. Prince Han was beginning to see himself in Yiqiang these last few months and hated it. During his previous visits, Prince Han convinced himself that what happened to him would never happen to Yiqiang. The Emperor was too good, and The Empress too thorough. But he could already tell it wasn't true. Yiqiang was at the age where The Emperor should be asking for his assistance and eagerly scrutinizing his coursework. Prince Han couldn't recall The Emperor mentioning Yiqiang by name once since his arrival.

To be an unfavored son was the same as dissolving into dust. People walked through you day in and day out. Being close to him meant courting The Late Emperor's ire, so everyone stayed away. When The Empress took him to the palace, his brothers and sisters were polite to him but nothing more. His cousins ignored him. Most of The Emperor's concubines ignored him or played nice to get his attention. It wasn't until The Emperor sent him away with his 10th brother, Duke Shoushan, did he become close to any sibling other than The Emperor.

The A Ge Sou was silent when Prince Han arrived. Yiqiang was a miserable sight to behold. He curled up at the head of his bed, his little body shaking with the force of his coughs. His face was red, and his eyes were wet and swollen. His nursemaids stood by his side, offering a cloth for Yiqiang to spit his phlegm. They offered no comfort or a kind hand.

Useless.

Prince Han didn't acknowledge their greetings and went straight to Yiqiang. Yiqiang crawled into his arms, limp and exhausted. The poor child couldn't even cry properly, instead letting out a mix of rasping gasps and hiccups. The sight of Prince Han, favored by The Emperor, compelled Yiqiang's nursemaids to suddenly behave like proper servants and have a cup of fresh tea for him in moments. Prince Han tossed it to the ground.

"Useless! Is this how you serve your master?!"

The nursemaids dropped to their knees, "Sixth Prince catches small colds now and then like every child, and they clear up on their own. We just assumed–"

"Damn your assumptions," said Prince Han, "Guards! Take these slaves to The Office of Careful Punishment and cane them 30 times,"

The nursemaids' cries of mercy stopped when The Empress arrived. Gone was the mother who pinched his cheeks moments ago. She had put on the costume of The Empress.

"Your Highness The Empress, please save us!" They cried, "We did nothing wrong!"

Prince Han snarled, "How dare you lie to The Empress! Look at Yiqiang! What have you done right?"

The Empress surveyed the room before calling for the doctor, who scrambled to his knees before her.

"Speak,"

The doctor swallowed, "Replying to Your Highness, after investigating, I can conclude that Sixth Prince's liver fire is attacking his lung. This can be the result of inner turmoil and anger,"

"Is this something that can happen overnight?" Asked The Empress.

Shaking his head, the doctor replied, "This attack can only come from a repeated build-up of anger and resentment—at least a month's worth. Your Highness, needn't worry. We caught it before–"

Suddenly, the doctor went silent.

Prince Han's blood ran cold, "Speak? Before what?"

"Before...before the fire spread and caused an internal bleed,"

Jerjer gugu glared down at the nursemaids before jerking her head towards the door, "Drag them out,"

"Be quiet!" She barked when the nursemaids began to beg, "For every heir you disturb, your beatings will double,"

Prince Han looked down at Yiqiang when the boy's clammy hand clutched his own, "Am I going to die?"

"Of course not," said Prince Han, "Right?"

"Very right," said the doctor, "Liver fire is a common ailment. Sixth Prince's medicine will be ready in the morning. I'll take my leave,"

The Empress ordered her servants to bathe Yiqiang and put him to sleep. Prince Han watched him be carried away.

"Zhishi," said The Empress, "Could you do me a favor?"

–––

"Royal father didn't come say goodbye," Yiqiang said as tears dribbled down his cheeks.

On the order of Xu taiyi, Yiqiang had spent the last week in bed. Other than doing his breathing exercises, he was to rest.

Prince Han leaned over and wiped them away, "There was just too much to do. That's why he left me here to watch over you so something like this doesn't happen again,"

So deep into his illness, Yiqiang could never make the trip to Mulan. The Empress asked that Prince Han be the one to deliver the news. Yiqiang was devastated. It was a rite of passage to hunt by The Emperor's side for the first time. It was when you truly became a man. Now, Yiqiang would be the first prince to miss it.

When The Empress wondered how Yiqiang would deal with the disappointment while everyone was away, Prince Han jumped at the chance to stay behind. Not just because he could avoid any matchmaking but because he feared that Yiqiang would become even sicker alone. The doctor's words had etched themselves into his brain.

'This sort of attack can only come about from a repeated build-up of anger and resentment,'

There was no way that Yiqiang wouldn't succumb to the liver fire and bleed to death if he were left alone. He had no mother and a man who was the Son of God before he was a father. The odds were against him.

Prince Han rubbed Yiqiang's back as he hunched over from another bout of coughs.

"Next year, the two of us will catch a tiger and a great black bear," said Prince Han.

"Could I give the pelts to mother?" asked Yiqiang.

"We'll see,"

Prince Han had no kind thoughts about Yiqiang's mother. The woman accused The Empress of a monumental crime and was given the grace of house arrest rather than execution for Yiqiang's sake. His current state made it clear that the choice was pointless. In Prince Han's opinion, the sooner Yiqiang forgot Shu pin, the better.

"My lord," said Sang'er, "Xiang gui ren sent over a few gifts for Sixth Prince,"

Yiqiang sat up and wiped his face clean of any wayward tears, "Send them in,"

Prince Han hadn't seen Jiayi since the night of the banquet, so he was disappointed when a chubby eunuch and a round-faced girl stepped inside.

"Xiang gui ren asked us to make a few things in the little kitchen to soothe Sixth Prince's throat," said the maid, "Tangerine skin tea, ginseng chicken soup, and fish soup,"

Yiqiang turned his nose up at it, "The other maid brought shark fin soup. I want that. Take everything else back,"

"Even the toys?" The maid asked.

"Toys? What toys?" Yiqiang crawled over Prince Han's lap to look closer at the tray in the eunuch's arms.

The maid smiled and handed Yiqiang a few tops, "Jiejie heard you were feeling poorly, so she painted these for you. Look at this one. When you spin it, the warrior charges!"

Prince Han carried Yiqiang over to the table. The bright white top had several figures of an armored Bannerman on all sides. When the maid ripped the string back, and the top began to spin, the Bannerman took his spear and sprinted. Yiqiang's eyes widened in wonder. He turned to the maid when the top finished its dance. Yiqiang eagerly snatched up the others.

"Uncle, look! This one's a tiger! And this one's a bear!"

Prince Han smiled, "We didn't even have to take the trip to Mulan to get them,"

"I want a dragon," Yiqiang told the maid, "And dancing girl! Tell her to paint it right now and bring it to me,"

"Yiqiang," Prince Han said, "Thank Xiang gui ren and let them go back,"

"But–"

"Now,"

"Fine," huffed Yiqiang, "I thank Xiang niangniang for her gifts,"

"Our mistress will be glad you liked them," said the eunuch.

Despite his protests, Yiqiang gobbled down the soup and tea that Xiang gui ren sent before spending the evening with his tops.

They were amazing. The Bannerman's uniform and spear were a perfect recreation. The tiger's fur seemed to glisten. The bear's gaping maw was terrifying. How did that girl get all that onto a piece of wood? He thought back to the first time he saw Jiayi in the gardens. The curve of her brow, her skin's warmth, and her very steady hands. Tomorrow he would visit Xiang gui ren and thank her personally.

It was only polite.

The following day, however, was filled with chaos.

Yiqiang was gone.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

(You can vote for this story on wattpad here)

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theserpentpharmakiea · 7 months

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This is Day 3 of the countdown to my new class Working with the Ancestors 101

Today's post is in honor of my Grandmother, my moms mother, Grandma Jo.

I wish I could say I knew her well or I knew a lot about her, but unfortunately, that's not the case. I barely knew her. She lived in KY, while my mom and I lived in MD. I did know that she was a very fun woman to be around. When she got to be at an older age, she lived as if we're a party. She would be out dancing and having fun with her girlfriends playing bingo and doing whatever it is that she wanted at the time.

Even though I didn't know much about her, I know she was a strong willed and independent woman. Because anyone who raised my mom had to be tough as anything! One thing I do know about my Grandma Jo is that her, along with my mom, aunt, my sister and me, we all have gifts of foresight and hyper intuition. I have always been told by all of them that this is something that runs in our family, mainly through the woman. Now I don't know where this line started and with who but I know that this is strong line of gifts passed down from mother to daughter for generations. I can feel it. It's interesting though because I have never really thought much about it, I don't mention often that my mother and grandmother had gifts or that my abilities came from them. No matter how powerful that connection is, I don't think that means if I didn't have this long line of connection then I'd would have any less amount of power. Power comes from many different places, but no matter what the connection to our ancestors can bring all kinds of power to us.

This post was meant to go up last night but I fell asleep before I could hit post haha)

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timeline32 · 16 days

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Undeniable sprouts of mutations form under your skin

as you perpatuate the bad habit of your father and his father before him

How many cigarettes to form a genetic vulnerability to cancer

How many drinks to create the blueprint of addiction

How much tugging to create a breach in the system,

Placed upon generations after you to be experienced

Told by doctors inevitable, being that it’s, well; hereditary

Psychosis Caused by spring and an Intolerance to weed

Premature death

A knack for strealing

How far back does it go

What sort of part do you play

Which strings in the braid of DNA did you weave?

Did you put a bow on it? Is it coquette?

Did you draw the beginnings of lolita

Or a humbert humbert

Perpetrator, victim or the absolute worst, both?

My general fixation on the mad woman is no reflection of me but a curiosity and will to understand my mother and her mother, and though nobody knows her, my great grandmother too

Are we made are we born are we born are we made

All I know is that the burden of generations before me has it’s foot on my neck

Determined to crush me under the weight of shitty circustance passed down like a curse I’ll have To devour 10 souls to rid

But I’ve taken it upon me to be a pacifier

I’m tired of war

I’ll alter My brain chemistry and restrain the worst of impulses

I’ll Stitch my Wounds with angelhair

Frail but with convictaion

I’ll pray to some higher power

That my daughter unlike the ones before her wont carry the burden of Inevability

Sorry baby no matter what you do you’ll always be a few hours sleep short of losing your mind

Ummm unfortunately the statistics aren’t looking great sweetie

Here’s a prescribtion to soothe the chronic nature of the darkness you will endure :)

It won’t come to that

Im in the business of creating a cushion with genetic materia

the sort normal fucking people have

Honey, I will install an airbag in your head thick enough to let you experience any part of life you want without having to pay with your Bone marrow

You will be sixteen at a party and you will smoke something weird and you will be fine the day after

You will not undress and lie in the snow until your feet turn blue and your heart rate slows down

Your dreams will be whimsical and inspiring

Not filled with imagery conjured up by your brain to desperatey process whatever feelings can’t be felt Awake

I’m doing the work baby don’t worry

I’m giving our foundation a makeover

No child will be brought into a house with these many cracks

I will see to it

Or simply not Do it.

I’ll breed it out

I’ll induce unnatural rest after a few nights out

I’ll sell part of my immortality to the boogeyman and make sure he becomes a mere shadow to you

I’ll trade my God given right to power and charisma for stability

I’ll portion out the rage only to the ones who deserve it

I’ll believe in the plasticity of our brains

It’s capability to adapt to anything

To form new connections

Synapses glowing up like a damn Christmas tree every time I’ll wait for the green light before crossing the street

I’ll try and believe in Everyone

Even

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mcrcki · 5 months

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Was that [ZOEY DEUTCH]? Oh no no, that was just [PJ HALLIWELL], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [CHARMED]. They are [TWENTY FIVE] years old, use [SHE/HER], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here -

pj has been here since she started college at eighteen, so over eight years now. she thought she was just coming to dc to get her journalism degree from georgetown, but has yet to make it back home to san francisco. she’s actually been enjoying her independence from her family, from the halliwell reputation. but when she’s alone at night, she can’t help but feel that familiar homesickness from her sisters and cousins.

where in your fandom is your character pulled from -

pj is pulled from the future, set after the epilogue of charmed. she was born in 2007, but is from 2025. (every year we get closer to that NOT BEING THE FUTURE)

has the magic affected your character -

nope, she has all of her memories in tact, her powers are still working. she just thinks she came here for school rather than being pulled to some alternate universe.

what is your character’s job -

pj is currently an event planner for the city and is honestly loving it. she runs her own business and is always looking for more employees or people who she can contract out with. she’s just started it up and it is her absolute baby.

other notes

a quick link to her wiki if you want to know like backstory or anything

otherwise here i am to scream about this chaotic idiot child. daughter of phoebe halliwell and coop. charmed one and cupid. she got powers from both her parents, being able to use them from before she was even six months old, beaming her mother around places. she has the powers of : beaming and remote beaming (basically teleportation and the ability to teleport objects. it’s just a pink light when it happens), sensing (being able to feel magic/supernatural beings) and high resistance (to any magical/lethal attacks). mixed with her basic witch powers (spell casting, scrying, potion making) she is one hell of a powerful witch. add on her ridiculous sense of honor and protectiveness for her family, and the hard desire to live up to her namesakes?? you get this chaos dummy. it’s why she was assigned a whitelighter LONG before any of her other cousins ever got one, since her powers had come in so quickly and intensely, the elders had done what they could to try and help keep this next generation of witches safe. shoutout to them for having to put up with baby pj doing THE MOST and never really getting a break. so sorry buddy. her full name is prudence johnna halliwell, she’s named after her great grandmother, and her late aunt. both of them having passed but they were two of the strongest witches in their line. she struggles with fearing that she isn’t enough for them. that she is a disappointment to her family’s reputation. so she throws herself into danger, putting herself in the line of fire for her family’s safety. she’s taken on a huge role at home, being one of the leaders of the next generation of halliwells. she’s liked, since being in dc, that she doesn’t have to worry as much about that. she’s happy to have her family here again, and she wants nothing more than to keep the peaceful life that she’s used to. she is terrified that there’s a chance, with the majority of charmed ones being around, that demons will start to spawn again too. she’ll fight if she has to, but man she wishes that won’t be the case here. she has two younger sisters, parker and peyton and she would literally do anything for them. big big protective older sister vibes. that extends to her cousins as well. they are thick as thieves, more like a group of siblings than cousins. she’s been in dc for so long, she absolutely needs a group of friends that she’s known, people she’s dated and broken up with (bc even though she’s a cupid she sucks !! at finding love for herself). though she’s doing better now, but it's still rough at times, and she’s really enjoying her life so far, even though there’s definite ups and downs.

CONNECTIONS :

✩ her whitelighter

please i just think this would be so fun , she was assigned a white lighter at like 4 years old this person would have been with her her whole life, constantly looking @ her like "wtf are we doing babes"

✩ best friend vibes

would love for her to have a bff to be stupid and have fun with, big party vibes but also will stay up till 3 am talking about life and just all around classic bff vibes

✩ employees

she’s a wedding planner and runs a whole company for it so feel free to come have anyone work for her!

✩ vendors she works with

anyone she could potentially contract with that works within the wedding industry (chefs/florists/venue owners/bartenders etc)

this could be v friendly or a strained relationship after a bad wedding who knows

✩ roommate (s)

really just want her to have a fun roommate that gets mad at her for not filling ice cube trays but they vibe with and have a swear jar and dance parties, come join her and mj in their fun little roomie crew !

✩ a squad to make stupid tiktoks with

girl just loves to make bad choices and absolutely wants to make dumb tiktoks all the time between astrology, witch tips, and just stupid drunk videos

✩ old college friends

she went to georgetown and has been in the city ever since freshman year so she would definitely have made plenty of friends while at school and after

✩ old tinder matches / exes

despite being a cupid, pj is literally trash at love. she thinks chad from tinder will fall in love with her because he likes dogs. just all around an idiot and has gotten her heart broken too many times, so she would definitely have her fair share of exes and flings

#p. intro #hw: intro

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manicdreamgirl · 6 months

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my little brother’s good friend’s little sister was kidnapped by hamas. her mother was sent a video from her daughter’s phone of her being slaughtered. she was a 20 year old girl at a rave with her friends. i can’t stop thinking about this. i can’t stop thinking about my grandmother and her family and what they fled from during the holocaust. the things they experienced. how horrified she would be right now. i will always stand with palestine, and i don’t really feel that i need to speak on this issue because i am not a zionist and i am not israeli, and every single time i do speak about these things i am met with either antisemitism or claims that i am a self hating jew. i have been called slurs on this fucking website before just for talking about my connection judaism in general. i dated a guy who slowly revealed himself to be a raging antisemite, who used his hate of me and his opinion that i was less human than him to justify brutal physical, mental, emotional and sexual abuse. but i think it’s important to say that the antisemitism i have experienced in the past weeks is beyond anything i have experienced in my 26 years on this earth. i have never felt so much hate directed at me from so many people. people i know have not been allowed to publicly mourn the deaths of their loved ones because in response they are called zionist pigs even though most of these people are not even zionists, just jews or israelis who have lost someone. why can we not be serious about this and have humanity and just feel empathy for all the people who have lost loved ones? why do people have to pretend that this is not an incredibly complex issue? why does everyone feel like they have to speak on this even though they are likely not well informed? i have so many thoughts that i do not think i can easily put into words. i feel scared and sad right now.

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crackedmarrow · 9 months

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When I do the inner work or what not I may actually be happy with a lot of the things I surround myself with however I don’t be really feeling like much of anything holds weight anymore. Maybe it’s because I feel like when people make mistakes or not even mistakes but do me wrong I feel like it’s a personal attack when in actuality it’s just them being indecisive or impulsive which no one is obligated to follow the path I choose it’s just disappointing because I can’t lie I be feeling I see so much for them however it’s not like I’m their belief system so why the fuck do I even be trippen. I guess it’s the thought of me being selfless or how I think I’m selfless. When I be doing stuff I really be thinking about other people not myself and then when I think of myself I be feeling selfish as fuck which is crazy because why am I not allowed to do it. I woke up to another philosopher and writer talking about Kafka and went to sleep with recordings of people talking about who killed Malcolm X. Which I think was an inside job. This girl I know is starting to look in to writers and philosophers. I think it’s kinda cool because she came to me and asked me where to start and I never gave her a clear answer I just listed a group of them and she took it and now she’s doing her thing. I think I get so caught up in wanting to learn things I find myself not applying the knowledge to my life knowing that all is connected. I also keep thinking about what that medium at the airport told me. He told me some shit read me to filth and also informed me that I’m disconnected from my body. Idc what people say I know I felt that energy the same energy when I meditate. The energy flowing my eyes rolling back and all. I know exactly what that was then when I went to my grandmothers house yesterday I knew that she was telling me she’s gonna die she looked me dead in my eyes and I knew she even asked about my mother. I’ve noticed when people start having off conversations with you they are going to die and I know it. However I could feel the hate in her heart for me. I don’t know what her thing is but she kept asking me about school and going back idk why she wants me to go back to school but it’s whatever. My aunt who doesn’t talk to me talked to me asked me for my number and all which is crazy she laughed with me and all then my cousin Leslie kinda shook me she doing that progressive parenting her daughter is a little Scorpio and everybody knows I love them she was telling me what she saw for me in the future. I liked her little reading she told me the cutest stuff she talked about Keesha to which was even cuter. These new kids a little different from us. I hate that she at the age she is 12 has insecurities because I wouldn’t wanna pollute a child’s mind with societies expectations when this shit is made up from one fucking weirdo and then the people who don’t have a kind of their own follows. I’m proud of her though. I went to play at my childhood park and all and was kinda upset with the changes but my family had a point if we don’t fix these communities now then who will. My generation worrying about everything I mean it’s a few people who want to fix the communities but I know these yt people don’t have the purest intentions when it came to rebuilding my grandmothers house. They know she’s going to die and they wanted to make sure the house was in tip top shape for the next. They even cut off her land and is building a new house there which I fucking hate.

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book51ut · 1 year

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so often im reflecting on mother-daughter relationships and generations of women. how we take care of each other and tear each other to pieces. i'm also thinking about how i miss places i've never been. a psychic told me part of my life's journey would be traveling to all of the places i've been and reckoning with my previous lives, so maybe that's part of it. but really i'm missing the history of my family that i can feel but can never truly know. part of being from a very insular community filled with immigrants and children of immigrants and myself being a child of children of immigrants, I feel very strongly connected to the idea of home as a place that isn't my actual home. of places that are continents away. i feel as though at any moment, i may step into the graveyard where my great-grandmother played with chicken bones as a child in sicily, just as i have stepped through the house in astoria where my grandfather ate the neighbors pigeons during the depression. i am always minutes away from the outhouse my grandmother used on the west coast of ireland as a girl. it is right next door to my house, right over the bridge in pelham bay park. their history courses through my veins and i yearn to return to it because somehow it is more where i am from than here.

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birchkillchronicles · 1 year

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Getting to Marigold

Chapter Seven

Copper, Parchment, Pomegranate

“Who’s that?” enquired Bernie, pointing at the back row.

“Not a clue,” grimaced her dad, glancing at the stiff figure in the old photo. “Your Gramma Todd would have known, but I really couldn’t say.”

“And that’s why we need to have a photo sharing table,” said Jeanie, in her most reasonable voice. “So that the relatives in those ancient pictures can be identified. Then we can craft a photo family tree and make sure every branch has a copy of it to take home.”

Bernie was leafing through her paternal grandmother’s photo albums. After his widowed mother’s funeral in Vancouver three years ago, Don had been the only sibling interested in keeping the hefty volumes. And—since Jeanie’d regarded the copper daguerreotype and black-and-white photos as cherished heirlooms—she’d gladly encouraged Don to pay the extra luggage fee to fly the albums home.

Today—on the Sunday following the August weekend when they’d all seen the play—Jeanie had called another family meeting at the kitchen island. Worn down by her enthusiasm, Don and Bernie were pretty much on board with a Roaring-Twenties-themed Olde Fashioned Dinmont-Todd Family Reunion right now, and she didn’t want to lose any momentum.

“Mom,” asked Bernie, closing the photo album she’d been studying and hauling over another to peruse, “did you get in touch with Lindy Styre?”

Lindy’s absence from the play last weekend had been a major setback for Jeanie. She’d nipped down the street to knock at the playwright’s door on Monday morning, then Wednesday afternoon and, finally, Friday at noon. But there had never been an answer.

Did Lindy travel much? Jeanie wondered. And, if she did, how long would she be away? Jeanie didn’t know, and it was exasperating that they hadn’t been able to connect. Lindy’s show—or at least a more compact and palatable version of it—was the keystone to Jeanie’s whole enterprise. And she couldn’t set the final date for next summer’s Reunion until she knew when Lindy’s company was available to perform.

Jeanie could have called the number on the Excursion Theatre website, of course. But she suspected that questions about Lindy’s whereabouts, even from a concerned neighbour, would be met with some scepticism. Besides, Jeanie’s request—accompanied as it would be by a lavish bribe—required a personal touch, and she wanted to look Lindy in the eye when she offered her generous proposal.

The rest of the Reunion plans were going quite well, though.

Last Tuesday, she’d convinced Bernie to trade up her brown paper bag lunch for a sushi restaurant a couple of blocks away from her office. And, from there, Jeanie had managed to get her daughter’s desultory blessing on her choice of stationery at a fancy papery store nearby. So, while Bernie’d moped like a little grey cloud about getting back late from her noon break, Jeanie had ordered one hundred parchment invitations and envelopes—just to be safe—and the same number of reply cards with their smaller envelopes as well.

Unfortunately, adding the spritely question ‘Do you remember the Twenties?’ had never appealed to Don or Bernie. And—after some resentful deliberation—Jeanie had decided not to die on that stony hill. So, on the front of the invitations, there was going to be a simple line drawing of flappers and gangsters riding merrily in their Tin Lizzie—which Jeanie had copied for free from a library book—and a banner proclaiming ‘The Dinmont-Todd Roaring Twenties Family Reunion’—which Jeanie had hand drawn herself. Then, inside, there were blank lines to follow the questions of Who?, When? and Where? which Jeanie aimed to fill in with her round script once she knew the complete answers to those important enquiries.

The reply cards, which also featured the jalopy and the banner, asked the standard questions of ‘Are you coming?’ and ‘How many?’ And—just as she was planning to do with the invitations—Jeanie was going to stamp the reply envelopes and address them all by hand.

Meanwhile, Don had been making a list of the relatives on his side of the family and their present locations. He didn’t have an old-fashioned address book like Jeanie’s, so they’d had to go onto the internet to track down the information that she didn’t already have. But why be too strict at this point? he’d argued. And—not seeing any other way around it—she’d had to compromise.

But that, Jeanie had sternly warned Don, was the only time that the curse of modern technology was going to blight their Olde Fashioned theme! Don had muttered something about how ‘Gutenberg must be printing our invitations then,’ but Jeanie had chosen to ignore his negative vibe…

“Mom?” Bernie was waiting, strangely impatient, for Jeanie to answer her question about Lindy Styre. “Have you gotten in touch with her yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” admitted Jeanie. “But I thought—since there’s nothing but dark skies and liquid sunshine outside—she might be home this afternoon. I thought I’d give her door a tap, at any rate.”

“I’ll come-with, if you don’t mind,” offered Bernie.

“Really?” You could have knocked Jeanie over with a silver lining! Bernie wanted to come along? That was tremendous! Maybe this whole Reunion idea had finally set her daughter’s pond on fire! “I mean, sure, kidlet, that would be great!” she exclaimed. “We’ll try around three, shall we?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Therefore, promptly at three o’clock, Bernie was standing beside Jeanie on Lindy’s front porch when her mother rang the bell. This time, however, the attractive older white guy, whom Jeanie had occasionally seen doing chores in Lindy’s yard, answered the door.

“Hi, ladies,” said the man. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, hi,” replied Jeanie, a bit nonplussed. From inside the house, she could hear the chatter of assorted voices and someone strumming an acoustic guitar. “Um, is Lindy around?”

“May I let her know who’s calling?” asked the man, with a pleasant smile.

“Bernie and Jeanie from three doors down,” broke in Bernie, unexpectedly pressing forward as she strained to see through the front vestibule doorway into the house.

“We’ve got a business proposal that she’ll really want to hear,” clarified Jeanie, who’d got back her normal brisk tone. “That is—we’re here to offer Lindy a fabulous deal!”

“Oh, in that case, ladies, you’d better come in.” Indicating the hooks where they could hang up their umbrellas, the man waved them through to the hall. “Lindy!” he called, “You’ve got a couple of neighbours here with a fabulous deal—”

“What, Malcolm? Who?”

Lindy appeared in the shabby living room’s dark-oak trimmed doorway. Behind her in the dining room the voices and the guitar quieted into a listening hush. “Oh, hi, Jeanie and—? Sorry—I should know your name—”

“Bernie,” volunteered Jeanie’s daughter, as she pushed past her mother into the hall. “And I have to tell you, Ms. Styre, I’m one of your biggest fans!”

“Oh, um, that’s nice,” said Lindy, clearly taken aback. “I mean, thanks.” She looked uncertainly from Bernie to Jeanie. “Would you two like to join us? We’re just having a small pity party over losing another two performances to this damned rainy August.”

“Sure!” piped up Bernie before Jeanie could reply. “That would be great!”

And, to her mother’s astonishment, the usually massively timid young woman practically ran toward the French doors. At the dining room entrance, however, she halted, greeting the occupants with a more tentative and Bernie-ish, “Hi..?”

“Hey, Toots!” responded a jaunty masculine tenor which Jeanie thought that she recalled hearing sometime, but she wasn’t sure when.

“Have a seat, babe!” encouraged an incisive feminine voice that, again, seemed familiar to her.

“En tout cas, we’ve got more than enough—” offered a second softer tenor.

“Yes, my dear. Do come indulge in our simple repast,” invited a deeper male voice in a courtly tone.

And—once more to Jeanie’s surprise—Bernie disappeared with alacrity through the dining room doors.

“Well done, my dear!” praised the courtly voice. “Now take a chair here beside me and say ‘Hello’ to Leo, my comrade-in-arms—”

“Oh, yeah, ha-ha, Darrick,” came the first tenor voice. “Sorry, Cutie. Ya gotta excuse the old guy’s waggish attempts at humour. He should be leavin’ those up to Leo. Wanna a beer? Or a coffee? Malcolm’s buyin’—” And Jeanie again heard the strumming of the guitar.

“I guess you’ll want to join us, too,” was Lindy’s half-hearted invitation to Jeanie. “Malcolm, we’ll need at least one more chair…”

Jeanie followed her reluctant host into the warmly lit dining room and, taking her cue from Lindy’s wave towards it, settled herself in the same rickety wooden chair where she’d sat during her first visit. Glancing back into the living room, she noticed Malcolm beginning to clear a pile of books and papers off a footstool to provide an extra seat. And then she turned to assess her fellow guests.

A lean and lanky whippet-faced white guy—the cheeky actor with the fedora who she estimated was the same early-thirty-ish age as Bernie—was seated at the far end of the table playing the guitar. Framed by the French doors, the insolent mid-thirty-ish actress with ultramarine hair sat opposite him. And, to Jeanie’s left, the slender fellow of indeterminate age, who she’d last seen driving off from Lindy’s house, greeted her with a sweet smile.

Across the table sat the dapper grey-haired actor who’d shamed the ringing-phone lady. But only when she turned her full attention toward him, did Jeanie realize to her horror that, not only was vastly allergic Bernie seated beside a man who was holding a tiny green-canvas-vested chihuahua in his lap, she was also petting the miserable thing!

“Bernie!” she exclaimed, without thinking. “Be careful of that awful dog!”

The little pup startled, the guitar music came to an abrupt halt and the room went completely silent again.

“Madame!” spat the tiny dog’s owner. “Please do not presume on our hospitality! Your charming daughter is merely giving Leo a pleasant salutation, as any polite person would do.”

“Yes, Jeanie!” added Lindy, with a flash of temper. “Leo’s a leading member of our theatre company—and if you’re not happy with that—well, you know your way out!” She gestured toward the vestibule with a scornful wave.

“Mom!” hissed Bernie, crimson buttons flaring on her cheeks. “Relax!” And then to the entire group she apologized, “OMG! I am so sorry! My mom is so way out of line...”

“Thank you, my dear,” sniffed Leo’s owner. “But it is not your contrition that we seek. What says your uncouth mother? Jeanie, is it?” And her name fired off the old actor’s tongue like a bullet to her heart.

“Yes, Jeanie,” she replied, tartly. She was beginning to have serious qualms about whether her genius inspiration to involve her family with Lindy and her theatrical friends was a great idea after all. “And, gosh, I’m sorry if I upset the apple cart. But Bernie is highly allergic to dog fur and it could be deadly for her to touch that animal.”

“Mom.”

Calm down! Don’t be rude! You’re embarrassing me!

“What? That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“I’ve taken my meds.”

“But you know that they’re pretty hit or miss. With your luck—”

“Am I wheezing or breaking out in hives?”

“Well—no, but—”

“Then just drop it, Mom!” Bernie’s glare would have peeled the rind off a pomegranate.

“Oh, okay—but—”

“Drop it!” snarled Bernie.

And stunned by her daughter’s over-the-top hostility, for once in her life, Jeanie did. “Sorry,” she said. And this time she sounded as if she meant it.

Recognizing that the mother and daughter skirmish had run its course, their tablemates bestirred themselves again.

The chihuahua’s owner handed Bernie an organic doggie treat to feed as a peace offering to a now calmer Leo. The ultramarine-haired actress began spreading a toasted bagel with cream cheese. The slender young man took a taste of his red wine. And the impudent fellow at the end of the table grinned and winked audaciously at Bernie—whose button blushes flared again—while he strummed a few more melodious chords.

From her seat on Jeanie’s right hand side, Lindy made brief introductions around the table. “That’s Rochelle and Philippe. Malcolm, who you met at the door. Darrick and Leo. And there’s Chuckie with his guitar. Bernie and Jeanie. They live three-doors-down.” Everyone made polite greeting noises or smiled hello. “There’s lots of stuff on the table to share, and I’ll get you a couple of plates.” Lindy disappeared into her dreadful kitchen.

“So, may I get you ladies a beverage?” enquired Malcolm, standing as well. “Beer? Wine? Coffee? Tea?”

“I’ll take a beer, please,” said Bernie, flooring Jeanie once again.

“Heineken? Stella? Blue?”

“A Stella, thanks.”

“And for you, ma’am?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jeanie answered, distracted. “A coffee, I guess?” But then—recalling the horrible freeze-dried crystals that Lindy had used last time—corrected herself firmly. “No. Wine.”

“Red or white?” asked Malcolm, patiently.

Jeanie took in the triangles of snowy-rind brie and wine-marbled cheddar, the dish of burlywood hummus and orange carrot sticks, the poppy seed bagels with pots of smoked salmon and dill cream cheese, the pair of golden-brown onion-and-black-olive flatbreads, and the rainbow of French macarons which graced the table and answered, “White.” And then belatedly added, “Thanks.”

As Malcolm made his way into the kitchen to fetch their beer and wine, Lindy came back with plates. And—despite already having eaten a filling lunch—soon both Jeanie and Bernie were busily sipping and noshing along with the rest of the company.

“So…this fabulous deal you were mentioning?” Lindy dipped a carrot stick into the hummus she’d spooned onto her plate and tried to look interested.

“Mm-hm,” nodded Jeanie, her mouth full of delicious flatbread. She swallowed and continued, “We want to hire you to cut your play down to a skit so that you can perform it at our Olde Fashioned Family Reunion next summer.”

Lindy looked confused. “The play we’re doing this summer? A Tale My Father Told Me?”

“Yes—A Tale—you know, whatever. We thought—”

“You thought,” specified Bernie, rolling her eyes to distance herself from her weird parent’s request.

“Okay,” Jeanie wasn’t going to rise to her daughter’s bait, “I thought that it would be fun to have the show as the finale for our Roaring-Twenties-themed week. It would be scheduled for a Sunday afternoon picnic, and we’d have all sorts of Roaring-Twenties-themed family events leading up to it. You said that your indoor theatre would be ready by then, so it could happen rain or shine. And I’ve got a terrific service to trade for the show!”

“We usually perform for cash,” suggested Rochelle, with a wicked grin. “You know—twenty bucks a person or something like that.” And, “Gee, I don’t know how suitable A Tale would be—even cut-down—for, well, a family reunion…” hedged Lindy.

“Yeah,” agreed Malcolm. “The plot isn’t particularly positive about domestic relationships, I’d say.”

“That’s what Dad and I have been trying to tell her,” sighed Bernie, and looked like she might have said more. But, with another broad wink, Chuckie caught her eye and, lowering her lashes, Bernie subsided into a self-conscious game of hide-and-seek with her napkin.

“But it’s very funny,” maintained Jeanie. “And I’m sure you could adapt it so that the father and daughter—”

“Have you actually seen the show?” Philippe wanted to know.

“Yes,” Jeanie assured him. “Twice, in fact. And I think—”

“And did you stiff us with a fiver the second time through?” asked Rochelle.

“No,” replied Jeanie, very patiently, she felt. “A twenty. Sixty, actually—no eighty!—from the just three of us—”

“Ooh, much better, babe.”

“—and so, as a down payment, you’ve already got way more than your due.”

“Our due—?” snorted Darrick, eyebrows shooting sky high. But Malcolm overrode the old actor with a practical question of his own, “So what exactly is this service that you’re offering to us, Jeanie?”

“Well, not so much to all of you,” she explained. “Mainly to Lindy, of course. She’s the one who’s going to be writing the skit. But, as you’ll see, it should be more than enough to compensate for her labour.” Jeanie smiled, supremely self-assured. “So, what I’m thinking is—if Lindy will provide us with a lively exclamation point for our Reunion—I will give her the benefit of my twenty-five year’s experience in interior design!”

“To do what exactly?” Lindy sounded alarmed.

“To consult with you and make plans. To provide an inspiration board and a detailed budget, as well as a perfectly-scaled conceptual sketch of each room. And then, Lindy, you’ll be able to confidently undertake the alterations which are necessary to update your home.”

Lindy’s face took on a stubborn pout. “My home’s fine.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Well—it’s okay for me.”

“No. it’s not.” Blithely ignoring the tremor of disapproval that shuddered through the dining room at this bold declaration, Jeanie finished draining her glass of acceptable Chablis and continued undeterred. “Lindy—your home is a disaster. It’s shabby and cluttered and dark. Your furniture is tattered, your carpet is ragged, and your hardwood is scuffed and worn. Your window treatments are dingy and, quite frankly, gross. Besides which, you’ve let your cat completely ruin the ornamental woodwork, which—to my mind—is a cardinal sin in a Craftsman house! The Victorian pieces in your dining room are too large for the space, and your kitchen—well, let’s just say it’s beyond dated and ugly. And that hideous bathroom upstairs! Holy doodle!” chuckled Jeanie. “That’s the worst! An absolute nightmare in amber and harvest-gold!”

For a second, Jeanie’s evaluation hung in the air, and then, “Fuck ostie! You nasty, horrible woman!” gasped Philippe, summing up neatly what everyone else was thinking. “Shut your repulsive mouth and go away!”

With a startled, “I beg your pardon—?” Jeanie began. But “Mom!” interrupted Bernie. She’d sunk low in her chair, as white as an albino mole, and looking for all the world as if she wished the floor beneath her would turn to dirt so that she could dig her way out.

“What?” Jeanie couldn’t for the life of her understand why all of Lindy’s other guests were eyeing her coldly and muttering what sounded like veiled threats. Even little Leo had bared his teeth and was growling deep in his tiny throat. “Everything I’ve said is simply the truth. You’ve got to admit that. Because—as you can all plainly see—Lindy’s home is an outmoded, grungy mess!” Honestly puzzled by her valid appraisal’s frosty reception, she gazed about.

“Mom…” Bernie’s voice was thickened with tears as she staggered up from her seat. “We should just leave! Th-thanks so much, L-Lindy,” she choked. “I’m—I’m so, so sorry—” She broke down into dry little snuffles and, scrambling from the room, stumbled into the vestibule and out through the front door.

“Way to go, Momsy!” snapped Chuckie, leaping up in pursuit. “Hey, Cutie—? You forgot your bumbershoot—!” they heard him bellow as he burst through the entryway and on to the porch beyond.

Rochelle emitted a snotty laugh. “I’ll bet he’s the son-in-law of your dreams, right, Jeanie? An actor? A travelling player? Chuckie the Clown—?”

Philippe snickered too but, of course, Jeanie chose to ignore such a ridiculous insinuation. Obviously, these people had misconstrued everything about her and Bernie’s visit. Gathering her dignity, she started again, “I only thought—"

“My house isn’t all that bad, is it, Malcom?” quavered Lindy, cutting Jeanie off. “Darrick, you don’t think that it’s actually ‘grungy’ in here?”

“Of course not, my dear,” stoutly proclaimed Darrick. “Leo and I are always supremely cozy in your delightfully eclectic home. Everything within is most kindly appointed for the sole comfort and convenience of your guests.”

“It’s not a showplace like yours and Leo’s,” granted Lindy. “I don’t have paintings and sculptures…and my kitchen appliances are a little bit old—”

“Each to his own, my dear. Each to his own,” soothed Darrick, and Leo gave an encouraging, “Arf!”

Malcolm, who up to this point had been too rankled to speak, now turned coldly towards Jeanie and tightly said, “I think, lady, your daughter was right. You should just leave.”

To add emphasis to his words, he grabbed Jeanie’s plate and wine glass and whisked them back into the kitchen.

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Lindy muttered, her eyes fixed on the tabletop.

“Good-bye,” waved Darrick and Leo.

“Adieu,” added Philippe, with an air of finality.

Jeanie was entirely nonplussed. What was the matter with this pack of idiots? Couldn’t they see what a dump this place was? “All I was trying to—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Give it up and go, already!” cried Rochelle. “Nobody here wants your stupid deal!”

“Okay, fine,” returned Jeanie, as levelly as possible. “You don’t have to use gutter language. You know,” she added, rising from her decrepit chair with as much grace as she could muster, “there’s a reason the neighbours call her ‘Loopy Lindy Styre.’ And you people sure aren’t helping her shake that reputation!”

“Let me help you find your way out!” grated Malcolm, returning from the kitchen to take Jeanie’s elbow in a firm grip and steer her implacably towards the vestibule. “Here’s your umbrella, what’s your hurry?” he snarled as he shoved her outside on to the porch.

As Lindy’s front door slammed shut behind her, Jeanie opened her umbrella to shield her face against the driving rain. Then, clinging to the soggy rail, she carefully watched her step as she descended the slippery porch stairs.

Once she had gained Lindy’s front walk, however, she lifted her umbrella to get her bearings.

Now, it is a fact that the ratty clumps of black-eyed-Susans in Lindy’s front garden and her dandelion-infested lawn would usually have been what caught Jeanie’s critical eye.

But the sight which stopped her in her tracks today had nothing to do with either of those blots upon their Avenue’s residential beauty.

No, indeed.

The sight that sent a thrill of alarm through Jeanie’s core had utterly nothing to do with the scandalous state of Lindy’s front yard.

Because out on the sidewalk—under the dubious shelter of the gangly maple trees—stood her rain-soaked daughter, Bernie.

And, holding her tenderly in his arms—with raindrops streaming from his hair as he kissed her passionately on the lips—was the actor who played the evil father in A Tale My Father Told Me.

The one the program named ‘Chuckie Calamansi.’

Also better known as—

Chuckie the Clown.

“What are you doing?” Jeanie screamed, rushing to save her only child. “Get away from my daughter, you disgusting freak!”

But starry-eyed Bernie only briefly pulled away from her soggy swain.

“Mom.”

Go away. Leave me alone. I love him, can’t you see…

And then—obstinate to the core—Jeanie’s daughter swam dreamily back into her disreputable lover’s sodden embrace.

#gettingtomarigold #original novel #satire #grief/mourning #parenting #summer theatre #actors #interior design

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